CHAPTER XV.

TOBY'S FRIENDS PRESENT HIM WITH A COSTUME.

During this time Toby's funds had accumulated rather slower than on the first few days he was in the business, but he had saved eleven dollars, and Mr. Lord had paid him five dollars of his salary, so that he had the to him enormous sum of sixteen dollars, and he had about made up his mind to make one effort for liberty, when the news came that he was to ride in public.

He had, in fact, been ready to run away any time within the past week; but, as if they had divined his intentions, both Mr. Castle and Mr. Lord had kept a very strict watch over him, one or the other keeping him in sight from the time he got through with his labors at night until they saw him on the cart with old Ben.

"I was just gettin' ready to run away," said Toby to Ella, on the day Mr. Castle gave his decision as to their taking part in the performance, and while they were walking out of the tent, "an' I shouldn't wonder now if I got away to-night."

"Oh, Toby!" exclaimed the girl, as she looked reproachfully at him, "after all the work we've had to get ready, you won't go off and leave me before we've had a chance to see what the folks will say when they see us together."

It was impossible for Toby to feel any delight at the idea of riding in public, and he would have been willing to have taken one of Mr. Lord's most severe whippings if he could have escaped from it; but he and Ella had become such firm friends, and he had conceived such a boyish admiration for her, that he felt as if he were willing to bear almost anything for the sake of giving her pleasure. Therefore he said, after a few moments' reflection: "Well, I won't go to-night, anyway, even if I have the best chance that ever was. I'll stay one day more, anyhow, an' perhaps I'll have to stay a good many."

"That's a nice boy," said Ella, positively, as Toby thus gave his decision, "and I'll kiss you for it."

Before Toby fully realized what she was about, almost before he had understood what she said, she had put her arms around his neck, and given him a good sound kiss right on his freckled face.

Toby was surprised, astonished, and just a little bit ashamed. He had never been kissed by a girl before, very seldom by any one, save the fat lady, and he hardly knew what to do or say. He blushed until his face was almost as red as his hair, and this color had the effect of making his freckles stand out with startling distinctness. Then he looked carefully around to see if any one had seen them.

"I never had a girl kiss me before," said Toby, hesitatingly, "an' you see it made me feel kinder queer to have you do it out here where everybody could see."

"Well, I kissed you because I like you very much, and because you are going to stay and ride with me to-morrow," she said, positively; and then she added, slyly, "I may kiss you again if you don't get a chance to run away very soon."

"I wish it wasn't for Uncle Dan'l, an' the rest of the folks at home, an' there wasn't any such men as Mr. Lord an' Mr. Castle, an' then I don't know but I might want to stay with the circus, 'cause I like you awful much."

And as he spoke Toby's heart grew very tender toward the only girl friend he had ever known.

By this time they had reached the door of the tent, and as they stepped outside, one of the drivers told them that Mr. Treat and his wife were very anxious to see both of them in their tent.

"I don't believe I can go," said Toby, doubtfully, as he glanced toward the booth, where Mr. Lord was busy in attending to customers, and evidently waiting for Toby to relieve him, so that he could go to his dinner; "I don't believe Mr. Lord will let me."

"Go and ask him," said Ella, eagerly. "We won't be gone but a minute."

Toby approached his employer with fear and trembling. He had never before asked leave to be away from his work, even for a moment, and he had no doubt but that his request would be refused with blows.

"Mr. Treat wants me to come in his tent for a minute; can I go?" he asked, in a timid voice, and in such a low tone as to render it almost inaudible.

Mr. Lord looked at him for an instant, and Toby was sure that he was making up his mind whether to kick him, or catch him by the collar and use the rubber cane on him. But he had no such intention, evidently, for he said, in a voice unusually mild, "Yes, an' you needn't come to work again until it's time to go into the tent."

Toby was almost alarmed at this unusual kindness, and it puzzled him so much that he would have forgotten he had permission to go away if Ella had not pulled him gently by the coat.

If he had heard a conversation between Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle that very morning, he would have understood why it was that Mr. Lord had so suddenly become kind. Mr. Castle had told Job that the boy had really shown himself to be a good rider, and that in order to make him more contented with his lot, and to keep him from running away, he must be used more kindly, and perhaps be taken from the candy business altogether, which latter advice Mr. Lord did not look upon with favor, because of the large sales which the boy made.

When they reached the skeleton's tent, they found to their surprise that no exhibition was being given at that hour, and Ella said, with some concern, "How queer it is that the doors are not open. I do hope that they are not sick."

Toby felt a queer sinking at his heart as the possibility suggested itself that one or both of his kind friends might be ill; for they had both been so kind and attentive to him that he had learned to love them very dearly.

But the fears of both the children were dispelled when they tried to get in at the door, and were met by the smiling skeleton himself, who said, as he threw the canvas aside as far as if he were admitting his own enormous Lilly:

"Come in, my friends, come in. I have had the exhibition closed for one hour, in order that I might show my appreciation of my friend Mr. Tyler."

Toby looked around in some alarm, fearing that Mr. Treat's friendship was about to be displayed in one of his state dinners, which he had learned to fear rather than enjoy. But as he saw no preparations for dinner, he breathed more freely, and wondered what all this ceremony could possibly mean.

Neither he nor Ella was long left in doubt, for as soon as they had entered, Mrs. Treat waddled from behind the screen which served them as a dressing-room, with a bundle in her arms, which she handed to her husband.

He took it, and quickly mounting the platform, leaving Ella and Toby below, he commenced to speak, with very many flourishes of his thin arms:

"My friends," he began, as he looked down upon his audience of three, who were listening in the following attitudes: Ella and Toby were standing upon the ground at the foot of the platform, looking up with wide-open, staring eyes, and his fleshy wife was seated on a bench, which had evidently been placed in such a position below the speaker's stand that she could hear and see all that was going on without the fatigue of standing up, which, for one of her size, was really very hard work--"my friends," repeated the skeleton, as he held his bundle in front of him with one hand and gesticulated with the other, "we all of us know that to-morrow our esteemed and worthy friend Mr. Toby Tyler makes his first appearance in any ring, and we all of us believe that he will soon become a bright and shining light in the profession which he is so soon to enter."

The speaker was here interrupted by loud applause from his wife, and he profited by the opportunity to wipe a stray drop of perspiration from his fleshless face. Then, as the fat lady ceased the exertion of clapping her hands, he continued:

"Knowing that our friend Mr. Tyler was being instructed, preparatory to dazzling the public with his talents, my wife and I began to prepare for him some slight testimonial of our esteem, and being informed by Mr. Castle some days ago of the day on which he was to make his first appearance before the public, we were enabled to complete our little gift in time for the great and important event."

Here the skeleton paused to take a breath, and Toby began to grow most uncomfortably red in the face. Such praise made him feel very awkward.

"I hold in this bundle," continued Mr. Treat, as he waved the package on high, "a costume for our bold and worthy equestrian, and a sash to match for his beautiful and accomplished companion. In presenting these little tokens, my wife (who has embroidered every inch of the velvet herself) and I feel proud to know that when the great and auspicious occasion occurs to-morrow, the worthy Mr. Tyler will step into the ring in a costume which we have prepared expressly for him, and thus, when he does himself honor by his performance, and earns the applause of the multitude, he will be doing honor and earning applause for the work of our hands--my wife Lilly and myself. Take them, my boy, and when you array yourself in them to-morrow, you will remember that the only Living Skeleton and the wonder of the nineteenth century, in the shape of the Mammoth Lady, are present in their works if not in their persons."

As he finished speaking, Mr. Treat handed the bundle to Toby, and then joined in the applause which was being given by Mrs. Treat and Ella.

Toby unrolled the package, and found that it contained a circus rider's costume of pink tights and blue velvet trunks, collar and cuffs embroidered in white, and plentifully spangled with silver. In addition was a wide blue sash for Ella, embroidered to correspond with Toby's costume.

The little fellow was both delighted with the gift and at a loss to know what to say in response. He looked at the costume over and over again, and the tears of gratitude, that these friends should have been so good to him, came into his eyes. He saw, however, that they were expecting him to say something in reply, and laying the gift on the platform, he said to the skeleton and his wife:

"You've been so good to me ever since I've been with the circus that I wish I was big enough to say somethin' more than that I'm much obliged, but I can't. One of these days, when I'm a man, I'll show you how much I like you, an' then you won't be sorry that you was good to such a poor little runaway boy as I am."

Here the skeleton broke in with such loud applause, and so many cries of "Hear! hear!" that Toby grew still more confused, and forgot entirely what he was intending to say next.

"I want you to know how much obliged I am," he said, after some hesitation, "an' when I wear 'em I'll ride just the best I know how, even if I don't want to, an' you sha'n't be sorry that you gave them to me."

As Toby concluded, he made a funny little awkward bow, and then seemed to be trying to hide himself behind a chair from the applause which was given so generously.

"Bless your dear little heart!" said the fat lady, after the confusion had somewhat subsided. "I know you will do your best, anyway, and I'm glad to know that you're going to make your first appearance in something that Samuel and I made for you."

Ella was quite as well pleased with her sash as Toby was with his costume, and thanked Mr. and Mrs. Treat in a pretty little way that made Toby wish he could say anything half so nicely.

The hour which the skeleton had devoted for the purpose of the presentation and accompanying speeches having elapsed, it was necessary that Ella and Toby should go, and that the doors of the exhibition be opened at once, in order to give any of the public an opportunity of seeing what the placards announced as two of the greatest curiosities on the face of the globe.

That day, while Toby performed his arduous labors, his heart was very light, for the evidences which the skeleton and his wife had given of their regard for him were very gratifying. He determined that he would do his very best to please so long as he was with the circus, and then, when he got a chance to run away, he would do so, but not until he had said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Treat, and thanked them again for their interest in him.

When he had finished his work in the tent that night, Mr. Lord said to him, as he patted him on the back in the most fatherly fashion, and as if he had never spoken a harsh word to him, "You can't come in here to sell candy now that you are one of the performers, my boy; an' if I can find another boy to-morrow, you won't have to work in the booth any longer, an' your salary of a dollar a week will go on just the same, even if you don't have anything to do but to ride."

This was a bit of news that was as welcome to Toby as it was unexpected, and he felt more happy then than he had for the ten weeks that he had been travelling under Mr. Lord's cruel mastership.

But there was one thing that night that rather dampened his joy, and that was that he noticed that Mr. Lord was unusually careful to watch him, not even allowing him to go outside the tent without following. He saw at once that if he was to have a more easy time, his chances for running away were greatly diminished, and no number of beautiful costumes would have made him content to stay with the circus one moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

That night he told old Ben of the events of the day, and expressed the hope that he might acquit himself creditably when he made his first appearance on the following day.

Ben sat thoughtfully for some time, and then, making all the preparations which Toby knew so well signified a long bit of advice, he said, "Toby, my boy, I've been with a circus, man an' boy, nigh to forty years, an' I've seen lots of youngsters start in just as you're goin' to start in to-morrow; but the most of them petered out because they got to knowin' more'n them that learned 'em did. Now you remember what I say, an' you'll find it good advice: Whatever business you get into, don't think you know all about it before you've begun. Remember that you can always learn somethin', no matter how old you are, an' keep your eyes an' ears open, an' your tongue between your teeth, an' you'll amount to somethin', or my name hain't Ben."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

AN ITALIAN SCHOOL.

A PAPER FOR GIRLS.

BY F. E. FRYATT.

If the young readers of this paper had only known of it in time, some of them might have heard six hundred little Italian children sing the "Carnival of Venice" in the merriest and most charming fashion possible, and they would not have had to go to Italy either.

It was sung in English, a little broken, but very sweet, in one of those out-of-the-way places that many New York and other children have never heard of; so I mean to tell them all about it.

The Italian school is in a very poor neighborhood. You may stand in its porch, and, unless you look up at the blue sky, see nothing pleasant whatever; in one direction, that awful prison-house, the "Tombs," meets the eye; in another, a crooked, shabby street in which dwell half the organ-grinders and monkeys of New York; and everywhere else, miserable, rickety dwellings.

Inside, however, the school building is so spacious, cheerful, and neat that it seems almost, if not quite, a palace to the scores of little folks who spend their days there, for most of them come from homes so wretched and dreary that it makes one shudder to hear of them.

Imagine a great square room lighted by three long windows; at one end a dozen sewing-machines (for, remember, this is an industrial school, where children work as well as study); in the middle several long low tables, benches, and the teacher's desk; by the side of the wall another long table, piled with bundles and boxes, and at the lower end of the apartment a tall dresser or closet--and you will see the work-room as I saw it.

Thirty or more little girls are seated at their tasks. Let me introduce you to some of them.

This one, is Jacquelina Magi, a young Neapolitan. What a pretty picture she makes in the sunshine, with her red bodice, massive ear-rings, and that gay kerchief fastened by a quaint brooch!

Only a year or two ago Jacquelina was a barefooted peasant child, and followed her fisherman father to the beach every morning to watch him draw his seine in the beautiful bay of Naples; she remembers gathering the lovely shells, and playing with the long tresses of sea-weed, but thinks she is happier here: is not that strange?

Near her sits Rosa Florio, and beyond her Rosa Casetti, or Rosa Dimple, as the teacher calls her, both working like little bees to finish the blue shirts for which they will receive their pay to-night.

Jacquelina is a pretty brown-eyed girl of eleven, but Rosa Dimple looks positively plain until she laughs; then her great gray eyes light up, and two of the prettiest dimples in the world nestle in her soft round cheeks. All the girls I have mentioned come from the villages or islands in the province and bay of Naples; so does that odd, old-fashioned little maid with her hair done up in a knot at the back of her head. Carmella is her proper name, but the children all call her Carmellouche, she is so full of mischief, and is such a tease.

Her long dress and narrow white apron, and the white kerchief folded so primly around her neck, give her a queer womanly little look that makes one laugh quite as much as her naughty though good-humored pranks.

The Neapolitan children cling together, playing and working harmoniously, though of course they quarrel at times; still, they defend each other so hotly that the little Genoese are quite afraid of them at first.

The North Italian children are much more grave and quiet. Here are a number engaged in a very pleasant employment. You would be greatly interested could you see them. They are the lace-weavers of the school.

Two years ago a lady who can make all sorts of laces heard of these poor young children, and knowing how well little fingers are suited to weaving, kindly lent her own cushions and bobbins for their use, and came down and gave them lessons every week.

Some of the girls, especially the Genoese, were delighted to enter the class, and although they could not work rapidly--that takes considerable practice--they learned very soon to form flowers and leaves for "duchesse" lace.

One little girl was very anxious to enter too, but no one encouraged her; so of course she had nothing to work with. What do you think she did? Give it up? No; being a small genius in her way, she made herself a cushion no larger than a breakfast plate, and cut out a number of little bobbins from pieces of rough wood; then with ordinary spool cotton actually contrived to weave three different stitches.

Luigina Gardella--that is the little genius's name--can now work seventy or eighty bobbins at a time. What do you think of that?

I must tell you also how ambitious another child was. Little Angevini Brizzolari desired to "learn lace" too, but was obliged every day to help her mother at the fruit stand; so she would come in the morning for her lesson, and then carry away her cushion and bobbins, and when she was not busy selling bananas and oranges, there she sat weaving lace in the street.

Little Agostina Valente, bending over her cushion so earnestly, engaged in giving her sister a lesson, has been more fortunate, and is now an expert weaver, frequently working more than one hundred bobbins for a single pattern.

The Valentes were born in one of the mountain villages just outside the beautiful city of Genoa. Their mother will tell you, with sparkling eyes, how, dressed in her best homespun blue and red linen gown, with a fine brooch fastening her yellow kerchief, she used to bring the babies down to see the Carnival.

Neither Agostina nor Carlotta remembers the marble palaces and bell towers, nor when they had the honor of bearing the white palms in the procession on Palm-Sunday, for their memory extends no further than the time when they were in the "big ship crossing the great water."

Look at Agostina. What a quaint, motherly little figure she seems as she weaves! Her face is not pretty, but her great brown eyes are lovely, and there is a sweet gentleness in her expression as she directs her sister. Listen:

"You go wrong, Carlotta. Dis is de way--one, two, three, four; twist as you go. Now pull your bobbins down."

"One, two, three, four," patiently repeats Carlotta; "twist as you go."

"One, two, three, four; twist as you go. Now, den, pull de bobbins dis way. Dis is for cloth stitch," explains the small teacher. "Now put your pin in dere, Carlotta."

Let us examine Agostina's work. She is weaving a beautiful lambrequin in duchesse lace.

The pattern, traced out on pink muslin, lies smoothly over the large round padded cushion. What a regiment of pins showing their bright heads! And, dear me! here are no less than seventy-two bobbins, each carrying a separate thread. I am sure, if you or I tried to work with so many, we would get them in a precious tangle very soon.

Already more than a yard is woven, and that is no little work when you remember it is over a foot wide. Roses and sprays of leaves joined together by a fine net--work called "brides," and a border with a pearl edge, form the pattern. The little weaver has had more than one stitch to learn. She will tell you about the cloth stitch, in which you must count four; the bar stitch, three; the half stitch; the picot for the edges; and the guipure dot to fill in the centre of the roses.

But here are other little folks, at this long low table, hard at work. Really, some of them are not more than five years old. One would think they could do nothing but play. They can, though, for they are the flower-makers.

Before each lies a pile of brightly colored flower petals, and a small paste pot and brush.

Nannina is making yellow violets, Bianca, white ones, and Pepita, blue. See how deftly their little fingers run the stamens through the centres, touch them lightly with the paste-brushes, then wrap the stems, and fasten them!

Already little clusters are forming, and by four o'clock, when school begins down stairs, there will be ever so many bunches of colored violets such as one sees in the windows of the large millinery shops; but who would think such wee hands could put them together so neatly?

It is now a quarter to four. The teacher bids the young folks put away their work, to be ready for school.

"School at four o'clock!" I hear some little girl exclaim.

It does seem late, but then it is an afternoon, or rather an evening, school. For the last half hour the little ones have been pouring into the large school-rooms below, and now the little machine-workers, the lace-weavers, and flower-makers go down to join them.

In one of the rooms, called the nursery, are sitting about one hundred of the drollest and queerest little boys and girls to be found in our great city; most of them are mere babies of three and four years of age; but they look very solemn as they gaze intently on the young teacher, repeating A B C after her.

I wish you could see some of the funny little jackets and trousers, and the curly heads in their bright kerchiefs. Poor little ones, they think they are real down-right scholars; but the truth is, they are only kept there to be out of harm's way, while their bigger brothers and sisters are learning reading, writing, arithmetic, and geography in the other rooms, as boys and girls do in the primary departments of the public schools.

My young readers know all about that; so I will hasten to tell them about the greatest event that has ever happened in the school--the celebration of its twenty-fifth birthday, or anniversary.

Not very long ago I went to see these little Italian folks, and found them in a great flutter of excitement. All their regular work was put aside, and each girl was working as busily as possible on a white apron, which she was trimming either with ruffling, pretty edging, or embroidery.

Such a whispering, and running back and forth to consult each other! They were so happy they kept humming snatches of song, until at last the teacher said, very kindly, "Sing away, children, one of your pretty peasant songs." So, merrily enough, the little lasses struck up,

"Ladis, Ladis, che le malata Per me mangia polenta"--

a song of a young girl who was too ill to eat her "polenta," a favorite dish among the Italian peasantry.

In another room more notes of preparation were sounding. A committee of girls were opening a number of paper boxes with such gestures and exclamations of delight that I could not but peep in to see what was inside of them myself; and there were the loveliest-- Well, you will know what when I tell you about the festival. Boys mounted on tall ladders were arranging flags on the walls, and hanging up garlands of greens and flowers, while, below, their companions were taking the heads from several barrels filled with good things, which were handed over to another company of workers to be placed in paper bags.

To make a long story shorter, the next evening at about seven o'clock I went with some friends to the festival. Nearly three hundred children had already arrived, and tramp, tramp, they kept coming up the broad stairs, their heavy little boots making a brave noise. In half an hour the long benches which rose in tiers nearly to the ceiling across the lower end of the room were filled. The gas was not yet fully turned on, but by its dim light I saw the six hundred little heads, and heard--dear me! a flock of crows in a forest could not make such a chatter, I am sure.

But, oh! what a pretty sight it was when the light was turned on, and we saw all the bright coloring of blue ribbons and scarfs and scarlet kerchiefs, the pretty white aprons, and, what was sweeter, dancing eyes and cheeks dimpled with smiling!

After singing a few songs, the children settled down to allow the president of the society to speak.

I am afraid, as far as the scholars were concerned, his remarks were lost, for almost all the wee boys and girls on the lowest tiers fell fast asleep, and many of the bigger ones only kept their eyes open by fixing them on the long tables at either side of the wall. If what they saw there could not keep them awake, nothing could, for there stood toy villages, menageries of animals, tin ships, locomotives, wagons, whirligigs, and regiments of soldiers. Then there were not less than three hundred real wax dolls, looking as if out on a promenade in their silks, satins, and velvets. Think of it, girls--they had real, true golden hair, arranged in the prettiest curls and braids, and even banged over their foreheads, besides having necklaces and ear-rings that shone like diamonds.

Even these and the coming six hundred bags of candies and fruit could not keep them quite awake, for they kept "nid-nid-nodding" until the piano and violin sounded for the "Carnival of Venice." Then you should have heard how the young voices broke forth with,

"Awake! awake! fair Venice now is smiling, For now has come the Carnival so gay,"

and how they rose and fell softly in the sweet "Tra-la-la" chorus at the end of each verse.

At last, after a grand chorus in Italian, which woke them thoroughly, down they trotted from the benches, passing in single file, and giving us a fine chance to look at their gala attire.

What droll little women they looked, with their prim braids knotted behind their heads, and fastened with gilt pins; their brilliant kerchiefs, tight waists, neat aprons, and long skirts gathered full over circular bustles, and nearly reaching the floor!

Under the tight, old-fashioned waists of the womanly dresses beat childish hearts; so you may imagine how the dolls were clasped in loving embraces, and such raptures ensued as made candies and oranges a secondary consideration.

As for the trumpet-blowing, the rattle of tin soldiers, and the general snapping and cracking on the boys' side, I simply put my fingers in my ears when I only think of it.

MUCH TOO HIGH.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

"Time for your catkins to fly," said the Wind to a Willow-tree that stood just outside of a great city.

You don't know what catkins are? Well, I will try to tell you. The seeds of certain kinds of trees, growing on long slender stems, in little scales overlapping each other, each one tipped with the tiniest of feathers, and the whole somewhat resembling a very small cat's tail. And when they are quite ripe, the Wind comes along and carries them away, dropping them here and there, as he journeys on, to take their chances, which are as one in a thousand, of finding homes and becoming trees.

"Take them," said the Willow, and flung them upon his wings, and away he went into the city, letting some fall in the middle of the streets, where they were soon trampled beneath the hoofs of the horses; and some on the sidewalks, where the twittering sparrows found and ate them; and some in the parks and gardens, where a few were fortunate enough to sink into the ground, and the rest perished when came the autumn cold; and one--the last it was--he carried to a bustling noisy square in the heart of the city, on one side of which a tall house, once a fashionable dwelling, but now divided into offices for business men, stood a story and a half higher than its humbler neighbors.

Before this house grew a fine oak, more than a century old, the only tree that had been spared when the square (which had once been a famous pleasure-ground filled with trees) became a business thoroughfare, and it owed its safety to the fact that it had heard the bells ring out our Declaration of Independence on the 4th of July, 1776.

In the wide gutter of the sloping roof of the tall house the dust had been accumulating for many years, and mingling with the decaying leaves dropped from the oak, had formed a rich soil, and into this soil the Wind planted the last seed of the catkin. And lo and behold! it took root there, and the next spring two tiny green leaves came up and looked wonderingly about them, to be followed by more green leaves, and still more, until at the end of the summer a slender young tree--not yet high enough to be seen from the street below, but already welcomed by the oak, whose topmost branches waved a little above it, and the birds who stopped ever and anon to rest a while on the gable roof on their way to the country--swayed gracefully to and fro as the breeze passed by it.

And when winter came, the kind old Oak threw over it a covering of leaves, and dropped a withered branch or two upon them to keep them from being scattered when the North Wind was in one of his tempers. And so, snug and warm, the little tree waited for returning spring, and then it burst through its leaf cloak, and went on growing and growing, until it could look down and see all that was passing in the square. And in a few years it became so stout and tall that people began to look up at it in wonder, and its fame spread abroad, and many came from afar to gaze upon the marvellous thing, growing, as it were, in the air. And as it got taller and taller, it began to be prouder and prouder.

"Was ever tree so high as I?" it called to the Oak one day. "I can peep into the chimney; I tower above you, and yet they call you the King of trees."

"If you do," replied the Oak, "it is through no merit of your own. Chance placed you at that dizzy height, which is, to tell the truth, very much above your proper station. But to my mind it were better for you to be held fast by the honest old earth, as I am."

"Nonsense!" cried the young Willow, bowing to a crowd that had gathered on the other side of the street to look up in amazement at it. "You are envious, old fellow. I should be myself if I were you. Soon _I_ shall reach the sky, while still your head will only touch my feet, and I shall be the friend and companion of the sun, moon, and stars. Never was tree so exalted as I!"

But ah! that very afternoon came a great hurricane. The window-shutters banged, and the window-panes smashed, the sparrows flew screaming to their nests, and the people in the streets were driven like flocks of sheep before the wind. And the young Willow, after battling fiercely a moment or two with the storm, was uprooted and flung down at the feet of the Oak.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]

PHIL'S FAIRIES.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,

AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.